


Office Hours

by UNHhhh



Series: Supplicant [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Just...Porn, NSFW, Smut, professor Katya, teacher's pet Trixie, when you get possessed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 07:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10986588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNHhhh/pseuds/UNHhhh
Summary: Trixie is sucking down her third trenta iced coffee of the day and she’s flipping through her flashcards faster than she ever has before. She’s got ninety percent of them memorized, Russian to English and vice versa. She’s chanting the declensions to herself in the nook across the hallway that leads to the Honors professors’ offices and she’s fifteen minutes early, but she’s been sitting there for two hours now.





	Office Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [campholmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/campholmes/gifts).



> This is just pure, unapologetic porn.
> 
> Professor Katya is A Thing and I needed to fill my own prompt instead of asking others to do it, so here you go: the fruits of my labor are now yours to cherish.
> 
> I tried really hard to give it plot. I did.
> 
> Don't fuck me up if this Russian is wrong, I used what's on an educational website so it should be correct. If it's not...does it really matter?
> 
> I'd keep google translate open in a separate tab; you'll want to know what they're saying.

The week before finals is not considered a light time in Trixie’s life.

Of course, it’s not considered a light time in anyone’s life, not even for the cafeteria workers doling out shitty food pulled from the farthest corners of the walk-in freezers. Or for the campus police issuing tickets for the sudden influx of students coming to class and parking on sidewalks and lawns.

Or for Katya Zamolodchikova and her students in her Russian I class, who are finding out that she was, in fact, serious, when she said she didn’t accept extra credit and homework the last two weeks of class.

Trixie is kicking herself as she speed walks across campus. She’s yelling at herself in her head, the way she always does when she makes a B or forgets to put in her student identification number on the scantron sheet for a test. Today, Monday, is the first day of study week- which means that the folder of Russian I extra credit and homework in her backpack is better off being tossed into her end-of-semester bonfire.

But she can’t give up. She has spent countless hours busting her ass, trying to remember these stupid fucking Russian declensions and conjugations, and it’s been a rollercoaster that’s just gone up and up and up the clacking track, she’s taking it higher than her peers because she can’t fucking stop herself from accepting a challenge and she’s too stubborn to admit defeat. And she’s four chapters ahead of the rest of her class and she’s so hot for herself at that, but…she knows she fucked herself over.

Because she had the whole semester to turn everything in, and of course, like the coupon queens on TLC, she had to wait until the last minute to turn it all in, to watch her B minus clack clack clack up to an A plus- and she forgot.

She _forgot_. She never forgets anything. Her planner is bursting at the seams with dates and folded pieces of paper with confirmation numbers and job applications and highlighted to-do lists- God, she’s so stressed.

The rubber sole of her low-top catches on the linoleum of the Honors building and she falls into the heavy wooden door in front of her. She’s going too fast, she’s in her head and she’s not paying attention. If Kim hadn’t graduated last year, she’d be laughing at her right now and pulling her back by the backpack so she wouldn’t get clobbered by the door that’s swinging open now and taking her with it to the wall.

The students rushing through it are chattering and now Trixie’s standing smashed up against the wall, pushing back on the door so it doesn’t break her sloped nose and she’s biting her lip so she won’t scream and scare the shit out of everyone on the other side.

This _would_ fucking happen. She’s…

The glow of her electronic watch lights up her face in pale green.

She’s three minutes late to class and she has a backpack full of useless shit that she has to now unload in front of everyone in class, because Zamo doesn’t let you do anything unnoticed, Trixie swears she gets off on humiliating her students.

The rush has passed and Trixie is swinging herself around the door and running now. She’s running and her asthma is creeping up or is that the breakfast burrito she shoved down her throat on the drive to campus and thank God the fucking door to the classroom is still open and-

Everyone’s looking at her.

She’s flushed, she can feel the heat in her cheeks, and it’s only partially because she was seconds away from being crushed to death behind that door. All eyes are on her and her disheveled, winding blonde hair and her parted, panting lips.

She drops herself into her unassigned-but-assigned chair- directly front and center of the classroom. Man, she really hates herself right now.

Zamo is staring at her with a raised eyebrow, and that stupid wooden pointer stick she insists on using and slamming against the blackboard she insists on using in the ancient, musty classroom she insists on using is just… _.resting_ on the one word Trixie has been up all night trying to remember. It’s the word she can’t seem to remember no matter how many times she goes through her flashcards, no matter how many word associations and mnemonic devices she employs…and she knows what Zamo’s going to do.

“Trixie,” Her hard Boston accent is even harder than normal and Trixie knows she’s in some deep shit. “Decline this.”

This is her worst nightmare.

What the fuck even is this word?

Трава.

She’s staring at it hard, Zamo’s stupid fucking pointer is just resting beneath the word written in her perfect Russian cursive and Trixie is sweating, she can feel it behind her ears. Trixie sighs.

“C’mon. Genitive.” Zamo says. “You learned this two months ago.”

“The one word…” Trixie mumbles to herself. “Okay. Трава… травы?”

Zamo nods curtly and writes in the word below its nominative sibling.

“Yes! Dative.”

Trixie fights her eyes that are threatening to roll back into her head so hard. She’s still out of breath a little. The classroom is dead silent- no one fucking knows this word. If she doesn’t know this word then no one does.

“траве.”

Zamo writes it down.

“Accusative.” The stick slides down to the empty space.

Trixie really can’t remember, she can’t remember this declension and she really should, thank God Zamo hasn’t asked her to define the word yet because she would certainly earn a look of derision from her if she did.

“I can’t-“

“Trix, you did this just fine Friday.” Zamo looks a little derisive, she looks a little exhausted, her knuckles are white from where she’s gripping that stupid fucking pointer.

“Anyone else?” She sighs when Trixie looks down into her lap ashamedly.

No one says anything.

Zamo slams the pointer against the blackboard and Trixie jumps.

“Anyone!” Zamo barks. “You need to know this for your final, guys. You know, the one next week?”

Trixie can feel the energy of a thousand sarcastic remarks and expletives flying past her and hitting Zamo smack in the face. Trixie’s about to lose it herself. She doesn’t need this; what she _does_ need is the fucking answer so she can write it down in her notebook and repeat it to herself every hour until next Monday during their final.

“траву,” Zamo sighs and writes it in. “I would assume no one knows the instrumental-“

“травой!”

Trixie surprises herself with the outburst and Zamo turns to face her with a small smile on her face.

“Good. Can anyone translate this word? Liason?”

The second smartest student in the room (Trixie knows- she’s compared grades with her since the first quiz), Pearl, Trixie knows she has her hand raised Hermione Granger high and she’s going to have flawless execution of the accent when she answers-

“Трава. Grass.”

For once, Trixie’s fine with her knowing something she doesn’t.

“Correct.”

The fifty-five-minute class feels like five hundred minutes and then Zamo is dismissing them two minutes late, as usual, and everyone has already packed up their stuff but no one dares leave before she dismisses them after she yelled at the young man who attempted it on the first day.

The classroom empties out and Zamo is putting her textbook in her satchel that’s full to the brim with leather-bound notebooks and fountain pens and miscellaneous papers. Trixie is staring at her, leaning over with a hand shoved in her bag.

Trixie fingers the folder in her backpack and fights with herself on turning it in- it’s not going to be accepted, especially after she just made a fool of herself, but the worst Zamo can do is say no- right?

She stands and Zamo is already leaning expectantly against the bare desk in front of her. She’s got both of her palms backwards and they’re resting on the edge of the wooden desk and her tendons are straining, blue veins stretched out over them. She’s giving Trixie a look that she’s never seen before and Trixie is scared shitless but she’s walking the three steps to the desk and she’s sliding the folder across the desk. She can’t bear to make any sort of physical contact with Zamo right now.

“I have my-“

“No.”

Zamo is staring her down. Trixie’s mouth opens a little, she’s slightly taken aback, she doesn’t know why.

“What?”

“No. It’s Monday; I’m not accepting late work or extra credit anymore.”

“But I have the whole semester’s worth of work in here; I…I _forgot_ -“ she has to close her eyes at the word. “And I really, really apologize, but…I have a whole semester’s _worth_ of work…”

She’s staring pleadingly up at her professor and Zamo is staring back, stone-cold green eyes not giving away any emotion. Zamo sucks her teeth and tilts her head to the side.

“Do you see anyone else in your class turning in their work late?”

“No…” Trixie is blushing so hard, she’s so humiliated. This is still her worst nightmare.

“And they’re doing much worse than you,” Zamo leans in and confides. “They turned their work in this weekend. I have everyone’s extra work but yours.”

Zamo slides the blue folder back across the desk. Her nails are perfectly manicured, short and neat up against the quick.

“I’m sorry, Miss Mattel. I can’t accept this.”

Trixie’s world is falling apart. She can feel herself unravelling and she’s about to go off on her stupid professor and her stupid rules.

“But- but I’m the best student in here. I can’t get a B! I can’t!” Trixie shakes her head. “I can’t fuck up my four point oh GPA, I can _not_ \- there has to be something I can do.”

Trixie’s shoulders are slumped and she’s staring up from her lashes imploringly, and Zamo is still leaning against the desk and she hasn’t moved an inch since she slid the folder back, and the folder is staring up at Trixie mockingly, it’s a bright blue bruise on her perfect collegiate visage.

Fucking Kim.

“Well,” Zamo shrugs. “If you make a one hundred on the final, you’ll get an A in the class. I’m going to have to curve it anyway, you and Liason are the only ones with anything over a C in here. You’re going to do fine.”

Zamo pushes herself off the desk and she’s buckling up her satchel- somewhere in the back of Trixie’s mind she’s impressed that Zamo takes the time to do that.

Trixie sighs and turns to grab her own backpack. The room is silent, save for the birds chirping outside the open window and the voices floating down the hallway.

She’s halfway to the door when she hears it.

“Come to my office hours this afternoon. I might be able to work something out for you.”

Trixie spins around and she’s staring at Zamo with wide eyes. Zamo is resting her weight on one leg, her army green satchel is slung across her small chest and pressing against her red wrap dress.

“Study until then. I’ll give you an oral test and we can go from there.”

Zamo passes Trixie and exists the room in a flowery, vanilla whirlwind and Trixie is left standing still, staring at the board with her fate written in beautiful Russian cursive.

 

 

Trixie is sucking down her third trenta iced coffee of the day and she’s flipping through her flashcards faster than she ever has before. She’s got ninety percent of them memorized, Russian to English and vice versa. She’s chanting the declensions to herself in the nook across the hallway that leads to the Honors professors’ offices and she’s fifteen minutes early, but she’s been sitting there for two hours now. Her ass is numb and her “Pump Me Up Bitch” playlist has repeated itself twice and it just started back with the Spice Girls. Her foot is bouncing and it’s making her thigh jiggle which is jiggling her arm that’s rested on it as she leans forward and studies.

_Олень. Deer._

_Dear is right…_

Trixie’s mind is making too many connections and she’s short circuiting at the same time. She’s thinking about too many things at once, and she can’t think of this declension even though she knows it’s masculine, second declension and she just had it two flashcards ago.

It’s right there, it’s hiding behind a fold of her brain and mocking her, mocking her like that look Zamo gave her earlier when she couldn’t think of _траву_. She can’t think of it. It’s not happening. She’s buzzing and there’s a fire in her stomach.

Trixie rips out her headphones and tosses the flashcards to the floor beside her shoes. She sighs heavily and leans back, closes her eyes and simply rests, strawberry jam spreading out over the surface of the chair. She has no end and the chair has no beginning as she takes deep breaths, she wants to meditate but her brain is refusing to stop thinking _deer dear deer dear deer dear deer_

 _Dear God did you see her tits in that wrap dress_ платье _they were like almost bursting out that satchel strap was not helping she was tugging on it does she know I’ve been staring at her all semester fuck I should have been looking at the words she was pointing at with that stupid fucking pointer not at her ass on Blue Jean Fridays and her hair was cascading down her back_ спина _and it’s so long and wavy and I want to run my hands through it and she was staring at me so hard today what, I’ve never seen that look before does she know I’ve been staring at her she knows doesn’t she, she’s going to test me today and she said oral earlier and I almost died my heart like, stopped and now she’s going to say it again in her office alone with me and fuck can I pronounce this shit right I’m going to fail this fuck fuck fuck-_

“Trixie.”

Her eyes snap open and Zamo is standing in front of her in the middle of the hallway, keys dangling from her hand. She’s leaning on one leg again and her face is stoic, but her eyes look a little sympathetic.

Or maybe that’s just the gray of the afternoon hitting the green of her irises.

And that satchel is slung across her again, Trixie can definitely see her nipples through the thin cotton of her dress and she’s pretty sure she couldn’t earlier, but she was also incredibly embarrassed and lost in a shame spiral so she could have overlooked them. But she doesn’t know how.

Trixie sits up slowly and gathers her flashcards, shoves them and her headphones in her backpack. She stands and follows Zamo down the dark corridor to her office, it’s the last one on the right and she’s got two huge windows butting up against one another in the corner. Trixie knows this because she’s been in here many times, she’s come in to chat and inquire about tests, to decide with Zamo which exercises she should do for the extra chapters she’s learned. Zamo’s leaned over her many times in this office, pointing out funny little things that trip her up in the language, warning her of strange words that fall into a different gender than what they represent- come to think of it, Zamo spent a lot of time helping Trixie out with her Russian studies.

Zamo’s office hours run late into the evening, sometimes until 7 p.m., and she’ll stay later if a student requests it. Right now it’s late spring and it’s 6 in the evening and it’s still light outside, though the storm clouds are dimming it and Trixie’s so exhausted, the sky really isn’t helping.

Zamo’s closing the door behind Trixie and her stomach is doing somersaults and she doesn’t know why, but it is. She sits down and props her backpack up against the metal of the desk like she always does, and Zamo steps around piles of books and papers like she always does and lands in her cushy office chair, folds her hands and rests them on her cluttered desk, and stares at Trixie.

Trixie doesn’t say anything. Zamo is looking at her with that unaffected face she was wearing earlier, it’s calculating behind the eyes and Trixie can tell she’s working out what she wants to say, and it’s honestly more terrifying than when she yelled at that guy the first day of class- and Trixie nearly cried at that.

Suddenly Zamo’s eyes are crinkling and she’s grinning huge. She leans in and says in a quiet voice, “I can’t fucking believe you forgot to turn in your extra credit, you book worm.”

Trixie’s stomach explodes and she’s leaning forward not of her own volition, she’s being pulled forwards by Zamo’s witch fingers gripping the tabletop. The two are leaning in close, giggling, and Trixie shakes her head.

“Neither can I.”

“How stupid, Mattel.” Zamo’s still smiling. “You had all semester. I was wondering where it all went.”

“Okay but like…I wanted to just hand it all in at once!” Trixie confides with a blush and a hushed tone.

Zamo shakes her head and there’s a glint in her eye again.

“You wanted to make me proud?”

Her look is mocking but it’s also sweet and…well maybe Trixie’s imagining things but Zamo just licked her lips and she looks really into Trixie right now. Really into her Russian I studies and how Trixie wanted to impress her fuck she so did…she so did because she’s a teacher’s pet.

“You like a challenge.” Zamo says low. “You like that I’ve been pushing you.”

Trixie wants to scream right now. The signals are crossing, she wants to read this as something more than friendly banter with her professor but she doesn’t want to get herself kicked out right before graduation, just two weeks before graduation, Zamo is doing this now? Is Zamo doing anything?

Smirk. Check.

Teasing eyes. Check.

Fingertips so white pressed up against the desk. Check.

Zamo fucking _winks_ at her and leans back, rests her hands behind her head.

“It’s okay,” She says. “I’ve liked it too.”

Suddenly Trixie’s underwear is soaked and she’s praying it won’t show through her linen slacks, what a day to wear khaki.

She knows her face is beet red underneath her makeup and she’s just praying it hasn’t worn off yet, she can’t let Zamo see how she’s affecting her, but Zamo is laughing, she’s _cackling_ , and she’s leaning forward and her hands are slapping the table. Of all the times Trixie’s been in this office with her, she’s never seen her this exuberant. Happy, sure, but Zamo looks like she’s won the lottery right now.

Zamo looks up at Trixie and holds her gaze, steady and quiet, there’s a smile playing on her lips but her eyes are a little unsure. Trixie hasn’t seen this look, either; usually she gets Stern Professor or Professor Who Wants to Hang Out After You Graduate. Right now, she’s getting something that has no sign of professor anywhere.

“I have extra credit for you,” Zamo says it so quiet Trixie has to lean in to hear her. There’s no one anywhere near her office and yet she’s acting like there’s someone right beside them.

Zamo leans in too and she’s inches from Trixie’s face, Trixie can feel the menthol on her breath and smell the tobacco from her cigarettes and the chewing gum she always pops in afterward, it’s missing right now but Trixie is sure she just spit it out before seeing her because it’s so powerful. Trixie can see the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes so perfectly right now, she can see her lipstick feathering out a little bit and where her foundation has rubbed off on the bridge of her nose. She can only imagine what she looks like up close like this, but Zamo must like what she sees because her eyes are darting all over Trixie’s face.

“You want to know what it is?” She whispers out a giggle.

Trixie nods.

“ _На русском_.”

“ _да._ ”

“ _Отлично._ ”

Zamo leans closer, and Trixie doesn’t even know how there’s room, but there is, and her heart is in her throat and Zamo’s about to taste it because her lips are so close and Trixie doesn’t know if she can _not_ kiss her right now, her voice is husky and she rolls her r’s like it’s so hot, it should be illegal, she’s not even fucking Russian, her Boston accent is gone when she speaks the language.

“Tell me…” Zamo looks away thoughtfully for a moment.

Their fingertips are touching.

“Tell me the meaning of _полем,_ gender, declension and case.”

Trixie closes her eyes in thought and Zamo hums satisfaction. She’s not moving.

“ _полем_ …Field.”

“ _Отлично_ ,” Zamo whispers. She taps her fingers on top of Trixie’s. “Gender.”

“Masculine.”

“Declension.”

“Second.”

“Case.”

Trixie’s eyes are clamped shut, she’s trying to remember, fuck, she can’t remember because she can feel Zamo’s breath on her face and her fingers are stroking hers and it’s like pins pricking her knuckles, her fingertips are cold and Trixie’s hands are sweating hot.

“C’mon…” Zamo practically moans it and Trixie’s knees clench shut.

“In-“

Trixie stops.

_Is it?_

“Yes.”

“Instrumental.”

Before Trixie can open her eyes, she feels plush lips on hers.

Zamo is kissing her. Zamo’s fingertips are curling around her wrists. Zamo’s breathing against her face.

As fast as it happens it ends, and Trixie’s heaving, she feels like she just ran a mile and Zamo is licking her lips again, but this time her eyes are dark and Trixie knows she’s not thinking about Russian right now. She still has her hands wrapped around Trixie’s wrists, it isn’t tight but there’s intent and Zamo probably isn’t going to let go anytime soon.

“Good?” Zamo raises her brows. Trixie nods mutely. “Another?”

“ _да_.”

“ _сиренью_.”

“Lilac. Feminine. Instrumental.”

“Declension,” Zamo is whispering against her lips, she’s ready to kiss her again and Trixie _cannot_ remember right now. She is fucking it up and she can’t believe herself. Zamo’s running her fingers up Trixie’s arms and they’re tickling the insides of her elbows. “Tell me.”

Trixie whines in frustration and Zamo moans outright.

“Initial form ending in a zero sound, feminine. Only one answer,” Zamo rubs her lower lip against Trixie’s.

“…Third?”

Zamo’s lips are pressed roughly against Trixie’s. Zamo’s tongue has found its way inside Trixie’s mouth and her hands are grabbing her by her full cheeks and she’s ghosting Trixie’s earlobes with her pinkies. Trixie’s nails are digging into the countertop.

“So good,” Zamo whispers. “Stand up.”

“Zamo…” Trixie whispers as she stands. Zamo’s already up and yanking the cords on her blinds to snap them shut. It’s so dark in here, she hadn’t turned the light on earlier and now it’s just the duskiness filtering through the sides of the blinds and the light coming from underneath the heavy door.

“Katya,” She says hoarsely. “Call me Katya, please for the love of God.”

“Katya,” Trixie plays with the sound on her tongue, and Katya spins around and looks at her with and electrifying gaze.

Trixie’s hand is clawing at her linen slacks and Katya yanks the chain on a desk lamp sitting on a windowsill and there’s yellow light in the room now. Katya’s straw-blonde hair is even more yellow and her skin looks orange.

Katya rounds her desk and pushes Trixie up against it. She brings her hands to the backs of Trixie’s thick thighs and Trixie whines as Katya lifts her deftly and perches her on the edge of the desk.

“I want to test you more,” Katya says into her ear. She grazes her teeth against the cartilage and Trixie shivers. “But I can’t make myself right now. I want you too bad. You’ve been working so hard. Fuck.”

Trixie’s never seen Katya so undone before, and it’s turning her on so much. She’s running her hands along Katya’s sides and her head is tilted for Katya to lick up the side of her neck and suck on the flesh beneath her jawline.

“No one is here right now,” Katya says. “But you should be quiet just in case.”

“Quiet?” Trixie is breathing so heavily right now. Nothing is making sense in her head but for the fact that Katya’s hands haven’t left her thighs except to rotate to their tops and she’s rubbing them a little bit. And Katya’s tongue is doing something against Trixie’s ear again and she’s whining again and Katya is laughing a little.

“I thought it was clear: I’m going to fuck you.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Trixie whimpers. She swallows thickly. “Yeah.”

“ _да_?”

“ _да_.”

Katya is tugging on Trixie’s t-shirt and Trixie holds her arms up for Katya to take it off. Trixie’s staring at Katya’s chest, yes she definitely took her bra off earlier, her nipples are so hard it looks painful, and Trixie reaches for them at the same time Katya reaches for the clasp of Trixie’s bra and it pops off in seconds. Katya’s tugging it down her arms hurriedly, Trixie shakes it off and then she’s grabbing Katya’s tits through the thin fabric and they’re small but they’re heavy and they feel so good.

Katya’s bends down and she’s rolling a nipple between her tongue and her teeth and pinching the other and Trixie whines again before slapping her mouth with a hand. Katya chuckles and sucks and tugs harder, her hand takes as much of Trixie’s full breast in her hand as possible and she’s massaging it and it’s making Trixie arch her back.

Her hands are on the desk again, propping her up, and she’s thrusting her chest in Katya’s face and Katya is breathing so hard and moaning herself. She’s straddling one of Trixie’s legs and rubbing herself against it, through her dress.

“Your dress,” Trixie pants.

Katya looks up. Her lips are swollen and smiling.

“What about it?”

“I want it off.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please?”

“No.”

_She would._

“ _пожалуйста_.”

Katya’s untying the belt around her thin waist and her dress falls open, and all she’s completely naked.

“Oh my God,” Trixie whines as she sits up. She pushes the fabric off Katya’s bony shoulders and it falls, Katya shrugs it off and she’s…she’s fucking _naked_ , right in front of Trixie and Trixie still has her slacks on and she should probably make it even.

And Katya is obviously thinking the same thing because she’s pulling Trixie off the desk and unbuttoning her bottoms as they’re making out and their breasts are touching, it’s so fucking hot, Trixie can’t handle it, she never knew extra credit could be so fun. Katya’s sliding Trixie’s slacks down and they fall to the floor, Katya’s holding her hands as she steps out of them and she’s still holding them and they’re still making out, Katya’s licking into her mouth and Trixie knows she’s just showing her the tip of the iceberg.

Katya moves one hand to Trixie’s underwear and she’s rubbing her through them, they’re cotton and nude and Trixie kicks herself for not wearing a thong today, but here she is in a bikini cut and Katya is moaning into her mouth and pressing into her with two fingers and she’s ruining Trixie’s underwear even more, there’s no way she can wash this out, she’s so wet it’s ridiculous.

Then Katya’s pushing her underwear to the side and she’s sliding her cool fingers against Trixie’s heat and she won’t press them inside her no matter how much Trixie grinds down against them. Katya’s laughing into her mouth and she’s _still_ holding her hand and Trixie’s free hand is tangled in her long unruly hair. It snags against her fingertips and Katya hisses and bites her lip.

Katya lets go of her hand and she slides hers behind Trixie and takes a handful of her fat ass just as she plunges a finger inside of her and Trixie moans so loud, her eyes roll back into her head and Katya’s shushing her and moaning a little herself.

She’s pulling her close and tight to her with her hand on Trixie’s ass, she’s not letting her move at all and she’s pumping her finger in and out of her at a stupidly slow rate, Trixie is whimpering quietly and digging her fingers into Katya’s round ass. She can feel how swollen their lips are against one another, but they’re still feverishly kissing and Katya’s _tongue_ she doesn’t understand, she can’t understand anything right now except that Katya’s already adding another finger and Trixie is _dying_ and she slips a hand around to brush against Katya’s neat pubic hair.

Katya whines high pitched against into her mouth when two of Trixie’s fingers find her clit and she rubs slow circles, she dips down and Katya is hotter and wetter than she could have ever imagined, she brings a little of it back up and rubs her some more. Katya’s fingers are going faster now, the hand on Trixie’s ass is sliding in slowly and she pulls Trixie up from against the desk and stands her up straight.

“Lean against me, I can hold you up,” Katya whispers. Trixie isn’t so sure, Katya’s shorter and thinner, but her muscles are rippling in her thighs as Trixie leans and then Trixie doesn’t care anymore because her fingers are rubbing against her asshole and it feels so good she can cry.

“Oh my God,” Trixie whispers against Katya’s collarbone, and Katya moans deep.

“Yeah?”

“ _даааааа_.”

Trixie can feel her wetness sliding down her thighs, she can feel Katya’s spreading out underneath her hand and she slips one, two fingers inside Katya and rubs against her, feels around and it’s _so hot_ , she really can’t believe it.

“How are you so fucking warm?” Trixie whispers hoarsely.

Katya presses a finger lightly against her ass and it gives slowly, so slowly Trixie think she’s going to pass out, thank God she put her hair up earlier while studying because it would be suffocating her right now, trapping her body heat.

It pops in and Trixie wants to scream and she bites it back. Katya moans fully, then catches herself.

“That’s how.”

Now Katya is pumping her at the same pace with both of her hands, Trixie’s knees are trembling and she’s fully leaning against Katya who doesn’t seem to be budging because of it at all. But she’s clenching around Trixie’s fingers rubbing against her g-spot, and then the thumb of Trixie’s other hand finds her clit and she’s rubbing it again and then Katya is trembling too.

It’s when Katya starts thrusting hard and fast against Trixie’s g-spot that she can feel the heat in the pit of her stomach building at an incredibly fast pace, her breath is hitching and she can feel herself about to have an orgasm from her ass and her pussy at the same time and that’s never happened before and if she passes out then it’s just going to have to be okay with Katya, because she can’t help that it feels so good.

“Fuuuck you’re gonna- make me-“

“Do it,” Katya breathes raggedly into her hair. “Come. I’ve been thinking about this for so long, come all over my fucking hand, Trixie, please.”

“Say it,” Trixie is holding back to hear it, she wants to hear it. There’s so much pressure between her legs. She can feel Katya’s g-spot swelling up underneath her fingers, her clit too, and she knows she’s close because she can’t catch her breath either.

“ _пожалуйста._ ”

Suddenly Trixie’s vision is white and she’s coming so hard she’s drenching Katya’s hand and the underwear on the floor beneath her, the dark carpet and the side of Katya’s desk.

“Fuck!” Katya yells and she pulls back a little to watch Trixie coming, she’s still coming, and then Katya’s coming too, she’s bucking against Trixie’s hand and they’re a mess of incoherent phrases and sounds and sweat and blonde hair.

Katya stumbles back into the chair Trixie was sitting in and pulls Trixie to sit on her lap. She’s still catching her breath, but she’s kissing Trixie’s breasts and she’s licking at a nipple like she didn’t just get real fucked and do some real fucking, and Trixie is jumping with aftershocks.

“Oh…wow,” Trixie breathes. Katya kisses up her chest and neck and gives her one long, soft kiss on her lips, then pulls back and nods.

“I’ve- that was- A plus, Trixie.”

Trixie giggles breathlessly and pushes Katya’s sweaty hair from her forehead.

“I knew I’d graduate on top.”


End file.
